Dear Mom
by beheadfirstfearless
Summary: When a depressed Nat is in need of help, he begins to write letters to his dead mother, describing things he could never tell anyone else. All the while, he decides to become a new person with a brand new attitude. However, the person he becomes may just ruin his life forever. Warning: teen material! Rating may change! Possible pairings.
1. A New Person

**A/N: **Hello, wonderful readers! This is a brand new story in which Nat is seeking help from his dead mother through letters. I must warn you, there is foul language along with violence, drugs, and sex along the way! If you're not into that kind of thing, avert your eyes now! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Naked Brothers Band.

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Dear Mom,

Before I begin, I want to make it clear to you that I am seventeen-years-old now, so you can no longer consider me a kid. I have seen and heard more things in my teenage years than you will find possible. Therefore, don't get mad when I start using words that you would usually gasp at. And the same thing goes for any sexual, violent, or just plain messed up thing I might talk about. Okay, now that that's taken care of, here we go.

I am mainly writing to you for the sake of my therapist. He says putting my thoughts down on paper might help me understand my problems better, and it even might help me cope with everything. I have mentioned to him a million times before that I am a songwriter; I already write my thoughts down. And every time I say this, I get the same answer. "That may be true, but this writing doesn't have to rhyme."

Stupid. That is the word I would use to describe my therapist. He apparently doesn't listen to much music or he would know that the majority of music doesn't rhyme. That's the problem with people, nowadays. You can't just go off on your own and be a free spirit. No, you have to wear what other people wear and say what other people say and go where other people go. For once in my life I'd like to put on a pair of shoes that are two completely different colors, a bright red pair of pants with yellow basketball shorts over them, a purple polo shirt, a leather jacket, and a hat two sizes too big for my head and yell, "This is me, dammit! Now shut the hell up!"

I think that is the type of thing Dad worries about. You know, me going crazy someday? I like to think he's just looking out for me, but c'mon. You and me both know Dad. Always for himself, never for anyone else. Me being in the paper for some idiotic act of crime wouldn't bother him. It would be the plain fact that the newspaper would write, "Nat Wolff, son of Sonny Wolff..." Now, don't get me wrong, Mom. I like Dad, I do. It's just that the more I grow up, the more distant I feel from him. It's like he's just waiting for Alex and I to grow up so he can finally be free of hassle.

Speaking of Alex, the little dude is fourteen now. Can you believe it? It feels like just yesterday he was addicted to lemon-lime soda. Oh, wait, that was yesterday. Yeah, he's back on it again. It's not as bad this time, though, so no need to worry. He drinks about one a day, but it is still enough to make him go mad. I told Dad that Alex should be the one in therapy. He rolled his eyes at me.

Did you ever have to go to therapy, Mom? It really sucks. Every session is the same. "What's new, Nat? Are you doing okay, Nat? And how does that make you feel, Nat?" If I had a fucking problem explaining how I feel then I wouldn't need therapy. That's what friends are for, right?

Wrong. Friends suck...literally. Rosalina is a whore now, but I think we all saw that one coming after the whole thing with the French dude. Let's see, David is a pot head. Just last week he spent all of the Christmas money he received on weed. Thomas joins him sometimes, but he's more into the alcohol. Even after being poisoned by it two times he hasn't quit. Qaasim is practically in a gang. He never really seemed to grow out of the "sagging pants" phase. Cooper graduated from high school a year early, so he is at some ivy league school in California. He stopped calling after about two weeks. And you're probably wondering about that bitch, Kristina. She went back to the Bronx about a month after joining the band. Everyone was kinda upset, but I saw it as a blessing. The girl wouldn't stop bringing those damn cookies to rehearsal!

Now that I've told everyone's life story besides mine, you're probably thinking about why I'm in therapy, aren't you? Well, you spend a whole month in your apartment and suddenly everyone thinks you're depressed. And maybe I am. I don't know. All I can say is I hate life. Period. Once the band broke up and the members started becoming people they weren't meant to be, I kind of lost it. I didn't do anything. I didn't go anywhere. Most days I wouldn't even brush my teeth. So here I am seeking guidance from a therapist who thinks every song rhymes. Whatever.

I promise you this, Mom. Tomorrow I'm going to become a new person, a whole new Nat. I don't know what I'll do. Maybe become religious or something, but I highly doubt that. Whatever I do, though, I swear it will change people's perspective on me completely. And then we'll see who's depressed.

Love,

Nat

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**A/N: **Review please, and let me know if you like it! :D


	2. Angel in Disguise

Dear Mom,

You know how people always complain about how hard it is to quit smoking? They get that stupid gum and everything that apparently helps them. Now, I'm not saying I feel no sympathy for those people, but smoking isn't the only addicting thing out there. You know what's addicting? Licorice.

Yes, I said licorice. And not the cheap kind, either! The strawberry kind from Twizzlers that comes in those great big buckets—that's addicting. I would know because I have been eating the damn stuff for two whole weeks now and can't seem to stop. Twenty-six buckets I've gone through and even more money spent. I know you're going to wonder why I'm so obsessed with it, so let me just go ahead and tell you.

So, a couple weeks ago, I was sitting in Bryan's office talking about my "problems." Bryan is my therapist, by the way. When I first met him, he told me to call him Dr. Shaw, to which I replied with a mumbled, "You look like a Bryan." He got a little mad but let it slip because of the situation. I think his real name is William, but he doesn't look like a Billy, either. Therefore, his name is Bryan.

Anyway, there I am in Bryan's office just chatting about the week I had had. I mentioned to him that I couldn't stop grinding my teeth, even throughout the day. It had come to the point where I didn't even notice I was doing it until my jaw would start hurting. Bryan suggested I start chewing gum or something of the sorts to "keep my mouth busy." (Exact words, I swear. I started laughing right in Bryan's face at the fact that he made a sexual joke. He asked me what was funny. I didn't tell him.) But me and you both know that gum makes me sick to my stomach. Thus, I chose licorice because it's kind of tough to chew and not that sugary. I wouldn't want to get fat, you know? It would be like Kristina's cookies all over again.

And now I'm writing to you while chewing on yet another piece of red licorice. Dad and Alex have asked me on multiple occasions why I always have it with me. I tell them I simply like it; the less they know the better. Okay, I'm done talking about licorice. On to something else.

Today I decided to go on a walk because it's jacket weather, and you know that is my favorite time of the year. I put my earbuds in and listened to Green Day while looking at the people walking by me. I wondered what their lives were like; if they had any problems or if they had a lot of money or no money at all. I wondered if they were married or had children. I wondered if they went to therapy like I did.

I became so obsessed with the people that I totally forgot to pay attention to my path, and you'll never believe whose apartment I wondered up to. Rosalina's. And you know what you really won't believe? She was home. Alone. Dancing.

I had never seen anything like it. Even though it was dark outside, I could still make out her body by the street light shining in her window. It appeared as though she was wearing a long, flowy dress, making her look like an angel in disguise. Though I couldn't tell what song she was playing, I knew it was something soft based on her small yet lovely movements. She was beautiful.

Suddenly, she stopped, but I still could not take my eyes off of her. She gracefully jumped to her stereo, turning back to me. However, when she turned back around, I knew she had spotted me. Her body froze as her face was cast with confusion, but I still couldn't gather enough sense to walk away. The longer I stayed, the longer she waited. After about three minutes of staring at her, I finally decided to leave, but not before she quickly waved at me with her tiny hand.

In that moment, I knew how I was going to change myself.

I was going to get my first love back.


	3. Onion Rings

**A/N: **Oh, wow. Is this an update from Logan who hasn't published anything since January? It is! Gee, sorry about my lack of updates. School got so busy, and I was finding it hard to write with the lack of time. But summer is here, and I'm back! Since I loved where I was going with this story, I decided to continue with it rather than start a new one. I would really recommend going back and reading the first two chapters if you haven't already. I am so sorry for leaving this, but I hope you will still enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **If I owned The Naked Brothers Band my name would be Polly Draper. But it's not. So we're good.

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Dear Mom,

You know what I've done to get my first love back?

Shit.

I have done absolute shit.

Once I got home from my walk, I realized going after Rosalina again would be completely humiliating. She knows what a loser I am! I can imagine her running into old friends from high school and having to look at them and say, "Yeah, I'm dating Nat Wolff. You know, the loser who never brushes his hair." How could anyone in their right mind date a guy who sees a therapist every day of his life and still sleeps with his bathroom light on? (Long story behind that one, Ma. Maybe I'll explain later.)

And, not to mention, Rosalina is perfect. She's so much more beautiful now than she was when we still had the band. Her hair is much longer and, get this, only one color! There's no red or blonde streaks now! It's all brown! And she has boobs and a hot ass! God, some of us thought that was never going to happen.

So, anyway, going after Rosalina would be a total waste of time. She's far too good for me. Besides, word on the street is she has some boyfriend that is a total douche but, at the same time, a "hottie" among the girls in New York.

You know what, Mom? I will never understand that. Girls want to date these boys regardless of how they treat them or how little they can trust them. As long as the guys think they are cool, the girls want them. Isn't it time people with an actual heart instead of a stroke of evil get ahead? I've been pushed aside all my life because someone was much better looking or a better athlete than I was.

I told Bryan about that today—how I've never been a good athlete. I told him the story about how in preschool you signed me up for t-ball, and I never even went to one practice because you wouldn't let me take my guitar. And then the time I actually wanted to play football in second grade but cried because I was named water boy. But I stuck with it, Momma. I stuck with it because when we got home from the first practice you looked me right in the eyes and said, "You might be just the water boy, but you're the best water boy."

I miss you telling me things like that. When I came home from school with a bad grade on a test, you told me how I'd do better the next time. And when I did do better, you'd tell me how proud you were of me. I don't think I've heard that word in a long time—proud. Dad never uses that word. He uses words like "low-life" and "coward" and "good-for-nothing." It hurts sometimes, but I've gotten used to it. Alex has, too, I think.

He asked me about you today. He asked if you liked onion rings. Something about how his taste buds are changing, and he's never liked onion rings, but now he does. He knows Dad doesn't like them, so he wanted to know if you did. I said you ate them sometimes. I didn't have the heart to tell him they were your favorite.

I haven't touched one since you died.

Bryan says I need to stop dwelling on your death. He told me I'll never be able to live my life fully otherwise. Apparently because I won't eat your favorite foods or listen to your favorite songs I'm weird. Bryan thinks if I let go of the past I'll be able to have a future. But I don't want to let go of my past, Mom. My past is you. I can't let go of you.

I won't let go of you.

I'll try to go to bed tonight and not think of Rosalina. Maybe the quicker I stop imagining her the quicker I'll get over her. Alex says he can hear me whispering her name in my sleep. I called him crazy. He said I'm the one with a therapist.

Goodnight, Mom. Wherever you are, I hope there are onion rings.

Love,

Nat

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**A/N: **Since I haven't written for a while, this might have been a little off. I'm hoping to get back on my toes again, though! PLEASE REVIEW. I want to know if any of you are still reading. :)


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